


Burn it up, burn it off

by notallbees



Series: No sun up in the sky [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Awkward First Times, First Crush, Horny Teenagers, Hot Weather, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If their apartment is cold in winter, with iced up windows and damp blankets and barely enough money to keep the heater going, summer is almost as bad in its own way. </p><p>But the worst part for Bucky is the weeks on end that Steve spends in his underwear, stretching his spindly arms and legs all over, wiping sweat off his neck and his skinny pigeon chest, and sleeping in a sprawling heap, his mouth open, and his throat bare and shiny with sweat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn it up, burn it off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nekare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekare/gifts).



> My beautiful nekare asked for 'mmm...teenage fumblings! in their horrible cold 30s flat because oh hyes', so that is what you're getting. Except I made it hot instead of cold because I'm awkward that way.
> 
> This is also, indirectly, inspired by alenie, who keeps feeding me dryhumping <3 (GOOD COMBO GUYS A+ WOULD FIC AGAIN)

If their apartment is cold in winter, with iced up windows and damp blankets and barely enough money to keep the heater going, summer is almost as bad in its own way. The breeze never gets strong enough to shift the sticky, stale smell and heat of their bodies, and the whole neighbourhood stinks of sewers and the slow, dirty crawl of the river. 

But the worst part for Bucky is the weeks on end that Steve spends in his underwear, stretching his spindly arms and legs all over, wiping sweat off his neck and his skinny pigeon chest, and sleeping in a sprawling heap, his mouth open, and his throat bare and shiny with sweat.

They've had a heatwave for three weeks, and Bucky can't take much more of it. He goes out more than usual, and flirts like the devil himself, but it never seems to get him very far. He's yet to grow into his long legs and his big, trouble-causing mouth; the girls are interested but they won't be swayed yet. So more often than not he finds himself at home, shuddering over the wash basin with a tight fist while Steve's sleeping, or if he's feeling particularly daring, he lies in bed and watches Steve's pale lashes twitch, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and he comes biting his fingers to keep quiet. 

Sometimes he can see that Steve is hard too, and on those nights Bucky wishes Steve would open his eyes and touch himself, but he never does, his breathing always steady and even. 

One night, Bucky comes home a little drunk, and finds Steve already asleep. He wets his hair and neck in the basin to cool down, and crawls into bed. Steve's lying on his back, one hand flung above his head, the other resting on his belly, covering the trail of fine pale hair that leads down beneath his underwear. Bucky licks the salt off his lips and wonders if Steve has the same ocean taste to his skin. He kicks off his underwear, because it's too hot anyway, and licks the palm of his hand, about to reach down and grab his dick when his eyes fall naturally to Steve's groin. It's impossible not to notice that Steve is hard already. 

Bucky holds his breath. It's happened before, and he's seen Steve hard before of course, but – but he's never been the right mix of lonely and horny and stupid drunk to let it happen. Before he can change his mind, he reaches out to stroke it, as gently as he can. He feels the shape of Steve's dick with the backs of his knuckles, his stomach lurching with desire when it surges to life under his touch. He adds a little pressure, pushing his luck and trying to convince himself he doesn't care about the outcome. Steve makes a soft noise and shifts slightly, his hand creeping down a few inches so that their fingers touch. Bucky freezes, but Steve doesn't open his eyes. He can't help wondering what Steve would say, what he would do, but he tells himself that Steve would understand. Maybe he wouldn't like it, but he would just shrug his shoulders or laugh it off and put it down to the heat. 

For several minutes Bucky just stays like that, feeling Steve through his underwear, hand moving back and forth while he watches the soft curve of Steve's mouth in the slow city light from the window. After a little while he notices that Steve's breathing has changed to the fast shallow breaths he gets when his lungs are giving him trouble. Bucky watches his chest anxiously, and starts to pull his hand away, but Steve startles him by grabbing his wrist and pressing it back where it was.

"Don't stop," Steve whispers. "Please?" He moves both their hands together, shuddering at the feel of Bucky's fingers on him.

"Steve, I-" Bucky stammers, glad of the darkness and Steve's color blindness when he feels heat go to his face.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't asleep, I'm sorry. Please don't stop." Steve's eyes shine up at him, reflected light showing Bucky the white of his fearful, pleading gaze. 

Bucky's mouth is dry, his tongue feeling too big to fit behind his teeth. He wonders suddenly, dizzily, how often Steve has lain there pretending to sleep. He tries to give Steve his wolfish, devil-may-care smile, but he's not sure it comes off. "How can I say no to that?" he whispers.

Steve moans, a noisy, breathy sound that makes Bucky's insides twist and his head feel foggy with lust. But much as he wants to hear more of it, he knows nobody else can, and he pulls free of Steve's grasp to clap a hand over his mouth. He shushes Steve sharply, moving across the bed to cover that skinny body with his own, tangling their sticky limbs together despite the heat. Steve nods, and Bucky feels the scrape of sharp teeth against his palm. It reminds him of the way they used to fight, the way they still do sometimes, scrappy and too tight in their skin. 

"Gotta be quiet," Bucky mutters, still holding his hand over Steve's mouth. He shifts his weight, realizing that he's rolled right into the hollow of Steve's narrow hips, and his dick is trapped there, next to the hot weight of Steve's. "This-" he gasps, "this is just for us."

Steve bites his hand again, harder, and Bucky pulls it back with a yelp. He's about to complain when Steve moves underneath him, what little he can with Bucky trapping his skinny limbs. "Buck," he whispers, so soft it's almost like he didn't say a word, and his eyes roll back. "Feels really good."

"Yeah," Bucky whispers back. He pushes himself up on his hands, giving him the leverage to move his hips against Steve's. It's good, even if it's _Steve_ , who smells like the sweaty exhale of a paper mill, tired and sick and in need of a wash, who makes Bucky laugh like nobody ever has, but who also knows how best to wound him. It's good but it's not quite enough, not like this, and Bucky rolls onto his back and reaches for Steve's skinny wrist. "Can I?" he asks, putting his own hand on Steve's dick and sneaking his fingers inside his underwear. 

"Uh huh." Steve nods and swallows hard, and Bucky finds his eyes drawn to Steve's adam's apple. He watches it move under his skin, and he has to fight himself not to reach out and touch it. He's in awe of the fact that Steve keeps on breathing, even though his lungs are wet paper bags and his throat is a treacherous mine, prone to collapsing. "Bucky," Steve mutters; encouraging, pleading, it could be either, and Bucky remembers his fingertips brushing the soft head of Steve's penis and then he wonders how he forgot about that even for three seconds. 

"C'mere," he murmurs, pulling Steve closer and pulling his underwear down, even though he flinches and tries to shrink away. Bucky's not having any of that. "Quit it," he scolds, pinching Steve's waist. Not hard enough to bruise. "I wanna look at you."

Steve hides his face, but just for a second, then he rolls his head back and looks Bucky dead in the eye. "Alright."

It's the challenge that gets him. Why is _everything_ a challenge with Steve? He hates it and he loves it. He strokes Steve's dick again with the backs of his knuckles, watching the shudder that rips through him, the way he bites his lip to stop himself making any noise. Bucky knows just what he wants to do, his own pleasure forgotten at the promise of seeing Steve make those faces again and more. He rolls Steve onto his back and straddles his legs, then lifts his hand to lick his palm again.

"Would you-" Steve starts, before cutting himself off abruptly. 

Bucky wraps a hand around his little cock, and Steve makes a soft, breathless sound like a moan that forgot to moan. "Like this?"

Steve shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut while his cheeks heat up. "Can you – with both hands? I like to use both hands."

Despite his warning before, Bucky groans loudly and has to bite his tongue to stop himself saying _I know that_. Steve's hands are smaller, his cock sized just right to lay in Bucky's palm, but he finds lacing his fingers together forms a perfect little shield for Steve to buck up into. His hips stutter a morse code, and Bucky tries to write a response with his hands, wanting so badly to lean down and seal shut Steve's mewling lips with his own. 

He doesn't get very long to think about it: Steve's done in about a minute, a warm wetness filling Bucky's palms. He watches Steve intently; adam's apple bobbing frantically in his stretched out throat; his mouth open and gasping, gasping for something, not in the way he grabs for air when the asthma knocks him flat, but something different Bucky can't name; his eyes, squeezed tight shut, then snapping open to look straight at Bucky, right into the depths of him. 

Bucky thinks it'll be a miracle if he even manages to get a hand on himself before he follows Steve's example. 

"That," Steve whispers, "that – Bucky, I –"

"Yeah," Bucky mutters, clambering off him and scooting up beside Steve, not quite close enough to be touching. 

Steve rolls onto his side and scrubs a hand through his dirty hair, the movement of his body giving Bucky a fresh gust of his scent, his boyish stink. Bucky closes his eyes as he shivers. "Y'okay Buck?"

"Uh huh."

"Can I – you let me return the favour?"

 _It's not just a favour_ , Bucky wants to tell him, _I'd do that ten times a day if you'd let me_ , but he's a little more sense than to go spitting out words like that, even after a few drinks. He just nods tightly, and feels the thin mattress wobble as Steve starts shimmying down it. Bucky's mouth falls open with a swiftly aborted sound when Steve puts his mouth around the end of Bucky's cock. 

"What the-"

Steve looks up at him. "You don't like that?"

"Stevie," he whispers, his chest heaving, "why would you wanna do a thing like that?" Bucky knows it happens, he's a man of the streets, he's heard the stories and seen the whores about their business now and then, but he can't fathom a man wanting to do that. Not Steve, not to him. 

To his annoyance, Steve just gives him a pitying look and drops down again. "This ain't hardly my first time, Bucky." He licks up Bucky's cock, gone soft from the surprise of it, and pauses to look up at him again. "First time I enjoyed it this much though."

Bucky moans then and Steve hisses and gestures to the pillow. Bucky nods at him, and rams the pillow between his teeth, letting himself focus on how Steve's dirty little mouth feels pressed around him, rather than on trying to keep quiet. He lasts even less time than Steve, really just a few quick ducks of Steve's head, a warm swimming sensation, and then he's shooting off in his best friend's mouth. When he spits out the pillow, Steve is already climbing back up the bed and wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist. 

"Now get to sleep," Steve mutters angrily. "I got work t'morrow. And you too." 

He rolls over with his back to Bucky, and, dazed, Bucky rolls away from him too. He lies very still, half asleep and half alert for every move Steve makes, every huff of breath. 

"Steve?"

"Go t'sleep, Buck," Steve whispers, but there's only affection in his voice this time, and he shuffles backwards until his spine curves up against Bucky's, heat pressing between them. 

"You really – done that before?"

Steve sighs. "Few times. Show you what I know."

Bucky grins through the pang of envy. "Yeah," he whispers. "I'd like that."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an idiot who forgets to include this. Follow [my tumblr?](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/) :D


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